


Peter's New Wendy

by beebooctoturtle



Category: Bring Me The Horizon
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-14
Updated: 2016-01-14
Packaged: 2018-05-14 00:29:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5722795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beebooctoturtle/pseuds/beebooctoturtle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oliver Sykes is Peter Pan at Disney and he's bum af and then he likes this girl and he's like hecKLE YEAH and she makes his life a good existence</p>
            </blockquote>





	Peter's New Wendy

-this is a story I wrote that isn't finished so bare with me.. I have to finish typing it up but here's what there is so far-

The sun beat down onto the green cap that was placed fittedly on my head. The swarms of people had finally died away from me finally, leaving me to be able to observe all of the people that had found an interest in Cinderella rather than Peter Pan. People always died away from me by 3 in the afternoon once the nice shift of princesses came about. I was the only Peter Pan that worked all week. Sure, people liked me, but I was more than inviting to the alone time.

I observed as a little blonde girl in a pink dress met Ariel shyly, giggling and growing red. If only that little girl knew that Ariel had Mickey pay her to get laid every now and again in the locker room. Not that Mickey was any better, he sat in the bathroom before every shift and shot up heroin. I flared my nostrils unhappily. I wished I could quit this dead end job and move on, just like I promised 15 year old me. I promised him I was going to be a star, living it up onstage before thousands of people. 18 year old me fucked that all up, however, and 20 year old me still didn’t know how to deal with it. 

“So… you’re Peter Pan.” I jumped wildly, whipping around to be faced with a small girl, no taller than 5’1”. “I-uh-,” I stuttered, taking my hat off and gripping it in my hand nervously. I stood up a little taller and put my hat back on, determined not to reveal how human I really was. “I am, young adventurer!,” I announced, getting onto one knee and placing a kiss to the back of her left hand. As I swept my eyes up to her’s, I noticed the very prominent scars that lined her arms. She giggled and pulled it away, crossing her arms tightly. 

“You must have fought a lot of pirates,” I said as I stood up, pointing at her arms. Her face grew red and she dropped my gaze. “You could say that,” she mumbled, and shifted her feet anxiously. I sighed and removed my hat again. “I used to hurt myself too,” I admitted, rubbing my arm. Some of the body paint that concealed my tattoos rubbed off around the upper part of my wrist, revealing a long, white line. Even after two years it still hadn’t faded. 

The girl took my arm and ran her thumb across the scar. “You should stop,” I said, making her drop my arm, “You’re very pretty.” She blushed again, but before I could say anything more, my shoulder was grabbed roughly. “Oh Peter,” I heard Belle hiss, “I do believe Tinker Bell would like to see you.” I exhaled hard through my nose and gave the girl an apologetic look. She grabbed my wrist as I turned away, whispering, “Do a better job at covering your accent, I’m positive Peter Pan doesn’t have a Yorkshire one.”

 

I pulled my beanie over my wet hair and shivered a little, rubbing my now obviously tattoos arms. I hated covering up the ink I cherished so much. I pulled the Employees Only gait open rather roughly and was planning the bee-line to my car when I heard, “You really don’t fit, do you Peter?” I turned to my left, catching sight of the girl from earlier. She raised an eyebrow and nodded at my arms, making me laugh. I shook my head. “No, no I guess I don’t.” 

“Please tell me your real name isn’t Peter,” she said. I caught the sarcasm in her voice; she obviously knew that characters we played rarely had similar names. “No, my name is Oliver,” I replied, and offered her my hand. She took it and shook it softly. “I’m Felicity.” The corners of my mouth turned upwards and I beckoned her to walk with me. “So why were you waiting creepily outside?,” I asked, “Were you planning on mugging me? Because I really don’t have that much…” Felicity laughed in a cute, breathy way. The kind of way that would make your heart skip.

“No, I wasn’t going to mug you. I wanted to see a little less Peter and a little more Oliver.” I stopped once I was outside of the driver’s door of my car, leaning back against the piece of scrap metal. “And why is that?” I wasn’t exactly used to people taking bold moves just to talk to me after an all day shift. Or talking to me at all really, I wasn’t exactly what you call social. Felicity shrugged. “Maybe I thought you were cute.” I could feel a heat rising in my cheeks, and I shifted my back on the car uncomfortably. I didn’t really know what to say to her.

“I wanted to say thank you,” she mumbled, leaning next to me on the car. I glanced down at her over my shoulder. “For what?” She looked up at me, confused. I was definitely missing something here… “For what you did today,” she explained, “No one has ever something like that for me before.” Oh. I shrugged lightly. No one had ever done that for me either. I reached into my trouser pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. An american brand, not nearly as good as the ones from where I’m from, but they got the job done. I pulled one out and placed the filter between my lips before turning the box to Felicity.   
She took one as well; I lit her’s and then mine, taking a big drag and then watching the smoke as it left my lips. “Thanks,” Felicity said. I shrugged again. I took a few more drags. I hadn’t enjoyed somebody’s company like this for a long time, and as much as I didn’t want to, I was really, really liking it. “You can join me for coffee tomorrow if you like,” I suddenly offered, but as soon as it was out I was beating myself up over it. I wasn’t letting this girl get close me, no matter how easy I found it to talk to her. I wasn’t losing someone else, along with another part of me that was barely there anymore.

Felicity leaned on my arm a little; I watched her take a drag of her cigarette, the billowy smoke leaving her pink, plump lips in a slow manner. Her eyes followed it and I could tell she liked the ugly activity. But when it was her, it didn’t seem so ugly. It seemed like art almost, like she was an artist painting a picture in the air. “Where can I meet you?,” she asked. I blinked a couple of times once I realised that she was now observing me. “Uh- How about that little shop off of 27th?” 

Felicity nodded; she was now observing my arm. I leaned my head against the rusty metal and breathed a sigh as she began to turn my arm over to see my full sleeve; I could feel the calluses on the palms of her hands. I liked her touch. It wasn’t like how I was used to; it was light and soft. “I really like your ink,” she concluded after a while. I picked up my head and looked down at her again. “Are you really going to meet me for coffee tomorrow?,” I asked. I had already assumed that she wouldn’t, though, and was very open to a simple “no” or a quickly thought out excuse. 

“When does your shift start?” She was leaning on me again. I dropped my cigarette and drug my heel over it, the fading red tip of it disappearing altogether. “Noon.” She smiled. I could have sworn I had seen something like that smile before, but I couldn’t place it. “I get out of class at ten. Meet me at eleven?” I looked down and smiled to myself. “Yeah, I’ll see you then.”

 

I stood outside of the coffee shop at ten fifty-five. Usually I would never be on time, but for some reason I wanted to impress Felicity. I also lived above the shop… My cigarette hung from my mouth. I hadn’t actually taken one drag off of it; I was beginning to think I should start, however, because my nerves had started to take over. I wasn’t sure why I was nervous. I had no reason to be. I was meeting someone for coffee, not robbing a bank…

I took my cigarette from my mouth and held it between my pointer and middle fingers on my left hand. There was about a half of it left. I took a drag from it, instantly feeling the nicotine thinning my blood. I leaned up against the brick wall, closing my eyes. It was bothering me how nervous I was over meeting Felicity. 

‘“Are you always this unaware?” My eyes shot open and I dropped my cigarette, accidentally crushing it with my heel. I cursed silently and steadied myself. Felicity was laughing at me. “Hello to you too,” I grunted, and opened the door, following her inside. She took a seat at one of the higher tables, but she had trouble getting up onto the stool. I chuckled. “I take it back,” she said once I had taken my seat (very easily I might add). I cocked my head to the side, similar to how a puppy would when confused.

“I like your accent,” she explained, “I don’t think you should cover it up.” I blushed a little and looked down. “Th-thanks,” I stuttered, and she giggled. I found that I really enjoyed hearing that giggle; it was airy and nice, and it seemed to take some pressure off of my chest. “What made you come to America?,” she asked. I let my eyes rake over her quickly like when I had met her, realising that she was covered in paint. She must’ve been an artist; she looked gorgeous covered in paint. I sighed. “I used to be in a band, and we came to the states for a tour. The drummer and I got into a fight and I ended up getting left in Florida.” 

Felicity placed her hand on mine. I observed the yellow and pink paint splatters on her hands and the blue tucked under her fingernails. “So you go to art school, then?” She met my gaze, nodding. She hadn’t let go of my hand, and I found myself hoping that she never would. “I’m in my second year. Started in New York, was hoping to go to England eventually… Is it just you here?” I shrugged in response; it was just me however. It was always just me. The barista finally came about. “Oliver, you know the rule. Get something or go back upstairs.” I rolled my eyes; my landlord’s daughter was a complete bitch. He was nice enough, seeing that he let a waste of space like me live above his shop. 

“Thanks, Courtney!,” I called after her. She really knew how to get under my skin. Felicity pulled her hand away from mine shyly, a cute blush rising in her cheeks. I gave her a small smile. “Once Zina comes by, we can order something,” I told her. I really wished she’d just play with my fingers again like she had moments before. “Oliver… Oliver what?” I picked my head up faster than intended, ripping myself out of my thoughts. “Sykes,” I replied slowly, “Oliver Sykes.” 

“Felicity Iero.” That’s when it hit me. “Iero, like Frank Iero?” She waved her hand in an almost dismissive way. “Yeah that’s my older brother. Dear old Frankie.” I nodded; I wasn’t much of a My Chemical Romance fan. I was more into metal and Four Year Strong and maybe a little Panic! At The Disco here and there. I tapped my fingers on the table, realising this was going nowhere. I really liked Felicity. I liked the way she talked, the way she walked, the way she giggled, the way she smiled. She seemed to connect with me more on one conversation than anyone ever had. Yet here, I was at a loss for words. 

I cleared my throat. “I-uh-”

“Sorry if this is straightforward, but how did you… um… stop hurting yourself?” It was straightforward, but I didn’t mind. In all honestly I hadn’t stopped. I didn’t plan on stopping. My legs were still torn up to shreds from months of loneliness and depression. I observed Felicity again, realising for the first time that the flannel she was wearing was rolled up for three fourths of the way on her arm. “I didn’t,” I admitted, “I just wanted you to stop.” Felicity reached across the table, having to basically stand up in the process, to grab my hand. “I want you to stop, too.” I took her hand in mine, mumbling about her to follow me. 

I sat next to Felicity and handed her a cuppa. She sipped it, savouring the taste before she set it down; I might’ve made it a little too hot for her. “I’m serious about what I said,” she stated, her green eyes searching my face. Impulsively I grabbed her arm, and rolled the sleeves up. She tensed. Under the flannel, as I suspected, were fresh cuts. I rolled up her sleeve to her elbow and lowered my lips to the scabbed skin, kissing every one of them softly. I did so with her other arm too until every single one had been kissed. “There,” I whispered once I was done, “Now they can heal.”

“Oliver-” I stuck up my hand, once again meeting her enchanting eyes. Her lips parted but then closed again; I knew that she was at a loss for words this time. She dropped my gaze, the small blush creeping onto her pale cheeks. “I-um… I just…” She sighed heavily and stroked my cheek with the back of her hand before placing her soft lips to it. “Thank you,” she mumbled. I swear my heart was skipping beats at this point; she was intoxicating. Yet I knew I had to take this slow. I knew I had to savour her like you savour the last bit of tea on the bottom of the mug, or the last cookie in the box. You make it last as long as you can until it’s gone. I hoped Felicity would never be truly gone. She was the single most beautiful thing that I had ever laid eyes upon.

She had begun playing with my fingers again, flipping my hand between her considerably smaller ones and running her fingertips over my protruding knuckles. “So… can you tell me about your band?” I was starting to get used to her straightforward nature. Being from the North, I did have the same nature, but I could never be as open or confident as she appeared to be. “We were called Bring Me The Horizon,” I said. I could feel a smile tugging at my features as I remembered all of the time we spent in my parents’ basement, writing songs and playing but mostly dicking around. She giggled again. “What.. like that line at the end of Pirates Of The Caribbean?” I nodded, the smile winning against my will and face muscles. 

“That’s exactly it, Mat and I were watching it and trying to name the band, and I like it a lot,” I explained. Thinking about Mat brought on a ting in my heart I was very used to by now. The ting of sadness, the ting of missing someone, the ting of never being able to forget the memories that we had shared (the good and the bad) or the last conversation I had left unsettled all this time. “Who’s Mat?” My eyes moved up her skinny jean clad legs to my own, observing the way her knee rested on my thigh. Her leg length was obviously shorter than my own. “He was-is- the drummer,” I replied softly, subconsciously wiping my cheek. Her hand brushed my cheek again, as well as her lips. I found myself believing I could get used to her light touch on me and how much I liked it.

“What kind of music did you play?” I shrugged. All I knew was that it was shit. We always played drunk and I always topped off the night by breaking into tears and apologising to the crowd for how bad we were. We had just come to America to see if anyone would like our crude and rough sound. “Metalcore I guess.” The light behind her eyes brightened at the mention of the genre, making the green irises seeming even lighter. “Oh I love bands like that! Mitch Lucker is basically my god,” she rambled. For some reason, seeing that look on her face made me happy. She was passionate about music just like I was and I loved it. I loved the way one side of her smile went slightly higher than the other, and how she stared past my shoulder. I couldn’t get enough of how her nostrils slightly flared every other word or how her eyes would scrunch up when her nose did or how prominent the smile lines in her face became. 

“I love Suicide Silence,” I said, and if her eyes could get any brighter or lighter I would pay to see it. She squealed a little and bounced her knee against my leg in an excited way. “British AND good taste in music! What’s next?” I glanced behind her briefly to check the clock and sighed heavily. “Work, unfortunately.” She pouted, her bottom lip jutting out and her pupils dilating as she opened her eyes into puppy eyes. “Oli,” she whined, pushing my arm. No one had called me Oli in a long time. The last person had been Mat when he spit in my face and told me to fuck myself. At that moment, I really didn’t care what it was, I would’ve done anything she was about to say to me. She was making me feel less alone; maybe even loved. I rubbed my eye with the heel of my hand. “I’ve got to go to work,” I said, and began to sit up when she grabbed my hand. “Can I wait here for you?,” she suggested shyly; the blush had returned. 

 

A stranger, a beautiful stranger that I had only met the day before, asking to spend the afternoon in my home to wait for me. I could say no, say didn’t know her, say I didn’t trust her. But instead, I handed her the TV remote, told her what the contents of my fridge were, and pressed a kiss into her hair before leaving for work.

 

It was around Nine when my shift ended. My last shift, might I add, as someone had seen the damage I had done to myself and my supervisor decided I was “unfit to work in a happy place”. I threw myself back heavily against my seat from the steering wheel, fisting my hair angrily. Unfit for work. I sighed, dropping my hands into my lap. This was it, this is where Felicity started believing I was a loser and I took the last sip of tea that was her.

With her swimming through my thoughts, I shoved the key into the ignition and began my trek home. I lived in downtown Orlando. How I afforded it, I still wasn’t sure, but like I stated my landlord was nice. I suppose he took strong pity on the lonely British bloke. I wondered if Felicity was in a dorm at her university or if she too had found someone nice or if she too had found someone nice that let her rent a small flat and if she was there now. Maybe she was working on a new piece of art that I could sense was beautiful.

My feet stomped in frustration as I marched up to my own cheap flat. I wished I had been a little more cautious of my ex coworkers and their wandering eyes because it could’ve saved my rent for the month. Being only the Seventh of November, I had until next week to acquire a way of making money or else I was completely and utterly fucked. Just about as fucked as you would be if you were to be cornered in an alley by someone with a gun or if you were a zebra galloping for what was probably the last leg of your life as the lions approached. 

I pushed my door open in a stressful way, slamming it behind me. Something flinched on my couch and then I remembered; Felicity had been waiting for me in my flat. her dark hair fell over her pale skin in a disoriented manner and she was wrapped in a blanket I recognized to be from my bedroom. The air conditioning was on high and set to about 55*F, making me rub my arms once my brain processed that they should have goosebumps on them. On the television blared What’s New, Scooby Doo?; I chuckled. A girl in her second year of university and she had settled on watching a cartoon about mystery solving dog. 

She stirred lightly as i passed behind the couch. I almost wanted to pick her up and moved her to my bed, or maybe even just lay under her and hold her to my body. The corners of my mouth twitched at the thought of it, but I forced them down. I couldn’t do that; I had just met the girl. Again, I put the blame on my loneliness. It was the only logical explanation. I didn’t love Felicity, I didn’t know her. I was lonely and craving attention, and the most beautiful woman I had ever met was willing to steal it away.

It was like when I lost my virginity. Though a lot of my life was unlucky, beautiful women loved me. Sometimes literally, sometimes to get some attention, sometimes just because of my accent. Even if the attention was there and they enjoyed to view me, that was all I was to them. Something nice to look at (and listen to). Not one had ever really loved me. Not one had ever given a fuck about my feelings. The only person I ever relied on was Mat, and with him gone, I was lonely again; then Felicity came to my aid just like a sailor would a siren.

I hoped it was different from that kind of relationship however. I couldn’t take getting fucked over one more time and I absolutely refused to make someone, especially an artwork like Felicity, feel that way. I placed my keys on the counter as quietly as possible along with the palms of my hands. The shirt that covered my torso floated down from my thin chest and I watched it go; it reminded me of a leaf falling down from a tree in Autumn, even if I had seen both occurrences many times. The light of the TV cast a shadow of me on the kitchen wall, making me look large and menacing. I laughed; that was something I would never be. 

Felicity whined behind me softly; I could hear my duvet sliding against itself and the ratty old couch creak and shift unwillingly. I glanced over my shoulder at the ungratefully green furniture. Maybe she really had woken up when I let the storm cloud that hung over my head take over. I hummed as she whined again, and swaggered over to the couch realising that she was indeed asleep, and it left me a little confused. The duvet was wrapped around her tightly and her eyebrows were knitted together violently. She kept shifting and whining, like someone invisible was touching her. I was desperately hoping that it wasn’t Freddy Krueger in her dream and that I wouldn’t have a problem when she mumbled something.

I bent down to try and hear her, to try and see if it really was Freddy haunting her dreams, but instead of listening intently and maybe stopping a few murders, I saw that her cheeks had a glossy tint to them. She was crying. I found myself upset over the idea of her being upset, even if it was little like only having a little bit of milk left in the box when you wanted cereal or when the one thing you need is the one thing you lost. I lifted her up a little so I could slide under her, so she wouldn’t feel so alone wherever she was in her head. I rested my forearms on her hips; they fit well into the curves I didn’t realise she had. She pushed her face into my chest and I my face into her soft hair. I let my eyelids drift together and I let myself feel Felicity’s warmth. The strange little artist I already cared too much for and refused to love like I wanted to. 

 

When my conscious came to me early in the morning, the sun had dyed my eyelids orange. I dug the heels of my hands into them whilst sitting up, and glanced over the clock realising what I took for early morning was actually almost midday. Slightly annoyed I had slept the whole morning away, my brain processed that the only thing that the only thing that would cheer me was up was to kiss Felicity’s cheek. Maybe even her lips, her soft, pink and plump lips that my eyes always soaked in. I shook my head. I couldn’t kiss her, I couldn’t think about kissing her, I couldn’t so much as look at her lips. I had known her two days. 

I swung my lanky legs over the side of the couch and ran a hand through my curly black hair. This is was ridiculous of me. I couldn’t fall in love with someone if I knew nothing about them, I couldn’t just want to kiss her, and hold her hand, and hug her when she’s sad and let her use my sweatshirts when she’s cold. I wasn’t her boyfriend. I wasn’t in love. Slowly I made my way to the kitchenette, forcing down any thoughts of her that exceeded being more than friends. Images of multiple breakfast foods swam in my mind as my stomach rumbled, but as I made it to the stove, I realised I didn’t have to worry about making myself anything. A cheesy omelet was left in a frying pan, covered by a piece of paper with neat, girly handwriting. Right, Felicity had spent the night here, on my chest no less.

“Here’s an omelet! I made it for you before I left for class, no meat just in case! P.s. tomorrow is my birthday and I have a surprise for you! I’ll be home around maybe one with it and you have to comply!! BIRDTHDAY!” I set the note down on the fake marble counter next to the stove; tomorrow was Felicity’s birthday, and I felt more than obligated to get her something. Something nice, however, not something cheap or dumb. I reached up to one of the top cabinets to grab a plate, feeling the breeze from the air conditioner on my stomach, and wondering how Felicity managed to even get to the plates without me waking up. Once I had the very fine china, I plopped the omelet on it and pulled out a fork, commencing in shoveling in my face to make my stomach stop trying to have conversations with me.

Halfway through the omelet, which was exquisite by the way, whist thinking about the contents of the note, it finally processed that Felicity had a surprise for me. I hadn’t the slightest clue what she was about to make me endure as all she knew about me was that I was a deadbeat British kid with no friends and a job where I had to cover up who I was. Not that I had that anymore, but I didn’t find it necessary to tell her how much of a loser I really was. My favourite thing about the letter, however, was that she said that she would be home. Not to wherever she happened to live, or at a friend’s, no, she meant here with me. She said that my flat and I were home. I tried to write it off as a petty mistake, tried to convince myself that she had just used some American lingo, but she said home. She didn’t say “I’m coming to your flat” or anything of the like. Home.


End file.
